bailey adams /2 cb

Somehow he'd been born content.

Very rarely does that happen in a place like Panem, even in Two. Everyone's always so hungry, so aching and hurting for more than what they have. Bailey never saw the things that weren't there, only what was.

He'd give it all away if someone asked, everything, right down to his fingernails and he'd always been like that. No one had taught him how to be that way, he just was.

Bailey'd been raised in a training centre. His mother had come from the Capitol as a young trainer twenty years ago and had met his father. She'd never looked back, never had reason to. People never really seemed to get that.

Most afternoons were spent sweeping out the gym after everyone else had left, dust motes dancing through the air and Wes sprawled across a training mat. Even when he was little, he was always doing other people's chores but it was rare for Bailey to complain. He seemed to take genuine pleasure in helping others.

It was hard to explain the fight ring, why the feeling of his ears ringing and Wes wrapping up his bleeding knuckles brought him so much joy. Maybe the moments he spent sitting there, forehead on Wes's shoulder with the fresh sting of antiseptic on broken skin, were the moments he felt the most clarity.

Were the moments he got why his mom had never left.


> being <